Of All the Thoughts of God

Of all the thoughts of God that are

Borne in­ward in­to souls afar

Along the psalm­ist’s mu­sic deep

Now tell me if there any is

For gift or grace sur­pass­ing this:

He giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep?

What would we give to our be­loved?

The he­ro’s heart to be un­moved

The po­et’s star tuned harp

to sweep

The pa­tri­ot’s voice

to teach and rouse

The mon­arch’s crown

to light the brows?

He giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep.

What do we give to our be­loved?

A lit­tle faith all un­dis­proved

A lit­tle dust to ov­er weep

And bit­ter me­mo­ries to make

The whole earth blast­ed for our sake:

He giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep.

Sleep soft

be­loved! we some­times say

Who have no tune to charm away

Sad dreams that through the eye­lids creep

But nev­er dole­ful dream again

Shall break the hap­py slum­ber when

He give­th His be­lov­èd sleep.

O earth

so full of drea­ry nois­es!

O men

with wail­ing in your voic­es!

O delv­èd gold

the wail­er’s heap!

O strife

O curse

that o’er it fall!

God strikes a si­lence through you all

And giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep.

His dews drop mut­ely on the hill

His cloud above it sail­eth still

Though on its slope men sow and reap;

More soft­ly than the dew is shed

Or cloud is float­ed ov­er­head

He giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep.

Ay

men may won­der while they scan

A liv­ing

think­ing

feel­ing man

Confirmed in such a rest to keep;

But an­gels say

through the word

I think their hap­py smile is heard—

He giveth His be­lov­èd sleep.

For me my heart that erst did go

Most like a tired child at a show

That sees through tears the mum­mers leap

Would now its wea­ried vi­sion close

Would

child­like

on His love re­pose

Who giv­eth his be­lov­èd sleep.

And friends

dear friends—when it shall be

That this low breath is gone from me

And round my bier you come to weep

Let One

most lov­ing of you all

Say

Not a tear must o’er her fall

He giv­eth His be­lov­èd sleep.